


Nimrud

by pulangaraw



Category: Highlander: The Series
Genre: Current Events, Established Relationship, Gen, M/M, Post Series, Sad feelings, Snuggling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-06
Updated: 2015-03-06
Packaged: 2018-03-16 15:35:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3493610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pulangaraw/pseuds/pulangaraw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Duncan comes home to Methos watching the news.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nimrud

**Author's Note:**

> This morning, I read the news about ISIS destroying ancient sites and it made me sad. And then I thought about Methos and how it must feel to someone who actually knew the places that are being destroyed so permanently. And then this fic happened.

_March 2015_

The apartment was dark when Duncan let himself in. He knew Methos was home, had felt his Buzz as he’d come up the stairs, but even though the sun had set a while ago, Methos had not turned on any lights. 

Duncan toed off his shoes and hung his jacket on its usual peg. As he moved further into the apartment, he could hear the low murmur of the TV from the living room, its colored reflections playing over the wall of the darkened room. 

“Methos?” Duncan asked quietly, making his way over to the sofa.

Methos was sitting sideways on the worn out sofa, as was his wont, but instead of his usual boneless sprawl, he was currently curled up tightly, his arms wrapped around his knees, his chin resting on them. He was watching the news. 

Duncan moved around the sofa and settled down next to him. He turned to look at the old man’s face and was surprised to see tears shining on Methos’ cheeks. 

Duncan reached out to touch Methos’ arm lightly. “Are you okay?”

There was a moment of silence, then Methos sniffed and turned his head to face Duncan, leaning his cheek on his knees, as if his head was too heavy for him to lift up. 

“They’re destroying it.”

Duncan glanced at the TV to try and make sense of the statement. On the screen were flickering images of bulldozers crashing into old stone ruins. Men with sledgehammers smashing statues weathered by the elements. Winged bulls were losing their heads; steles carved with pictures of ancient battles lay broken on the ground... The banner at the bottom displayed 'Outcry over Isis destruction of ancient Assyrian site of Nimrud' in bold white-on-blue letters. 

“Oh,” Duncan said quietly and moved closer. Putting his arm around Methos’ shoulders. 

They watched the end of the piece in silence and when the next news item came on, Methos reached out and turned off the TV. He sniffed again. Duncan, not sure how to react to such a display of emotions simply held him close. 

After a while Methos said, “Don’t mind me, I’m just being a sentimental old fool.”

“Happens to the best of us,” Duncan joked, trying to lighten the mood. 

“Yeah,” Methos wiped his face with the sleeve of his sweater. “I don’t know why I even care. It’s not the first time some fanatic band of would-be revolutionaries has destroyed priceless historical artifacts. Won’t be the last time either.”  
“But this one hits close to home,” Duncan guessed. 

Methos shrugged. 

“Want to tell me about it?”

“Not much to tell. I used to live there. Once upon a time.” Methos unfurled a little, leaned some of his weight into Duncan. 

Duncan, from long experience, knew that it would be best to remain quiet. Methos often needed time to prepare himself before he was able to talk about his past. Long ago, trial and error had taught Methos to be cautious with his life stories. To only share them with those he trusted completely. 

Eventually Methos spoke, “Nimrud was special. It was the jewel of the civilized world. Everyone wanted to see it, smell it’s air, hear it’s sounds and taste it’s foods. People came from all over the world to trade there, to pray to its gods and to live in its splendor. Nimrud, and before it Nineveh, the homes of the greatest civilization that ever was.“

Duncan gently stroked his fingers through the short hairs at the back of Methos' neck as he listened. 

“I grew up in Nineveh, you know. In the temples, among the priests. I learned to read and write there. I learned to love on its streets, learned to cook in the communal kitchens. I got married there. My children and grand children grew up there and died there. Those places were my home for more than a thousand years and there was a time when I thought it would last forever.”

_Nothing lasts forever_. The words were on Duncan’s tongue, but he held them back. He knew that Methos was thinking them and he did not need to say them out loud; to add to the pain that Methos was already feeling. 

“Maybe you should write about it, give people a way to remember what used to be there.”

“People have already written thousands of pages on it. What good would a few hundred more do?”

“I don’t know, at least you'd have a unique perspective, don’t you think?”

Methos snorted. “Who'd believe it anyway.”

“It doesn't have to be a historical text. Turn it into a story.”

Methos was quiet again for a long while. “Maybe I will,” he said finally. 

He leaned further into Duncan, resting all his weight on the Highlander and Duncan accommodated him by shuffling them around so Methos' back was leaning against his chest, their legs stretched out over the rest of the sofa. 

“Will you tell me some more about Nimrud?” Duncan asked quietly, threading his fingers through Methos'. 

He didn't have to see Methos' face to know he was smiling. “What would you like to know?”

 

The End.


End file.
